A Father's Love
by Shadow of a Failure
Summary: Anna, Booker, Songbird, the Luteces, are all part of one much larger world, one that they can't even imagine. Booker, alcohol addicted, struggles with money and the Pinkertons, Songbird, just trying to protect, to be loved, and the Luteces tasked with the tedious work of manipulating the world around them, just for the greater good of Booker DeWitt, the man who lost his daughter.
1. Chapter 1: Songbird

It flew through the sky, gripping the toy so tightly in it's hand. As if it were a child. It couldn't let go, it couldn't let Anna - Elizabeth down again. It couldn't. It wouldn't. Not like before, even though there was no before for it. The before died with him. The Lutece's took away the before from him. From it. Like how they took Anna - Elizabeth. And like how they took his wife. He couldn't even afford a funeral. Not a grave. Not even a shovel, or the dirt to dig in order to bury her. They burned her at the hospital, and threw her ashes into the wind. He washed it away with whiskey, and Anna just watched, she didn't know what it meant. He held her, held her so tight, just so they couldn't take her away from him. Then again, there is no him anymore, now is there?

It passed the tower, then circled around and landed. The people on the streets so far away saw it, and time froze. It froze for them at least, the bird didn't notice. The people just stared. It didn't know why. As the bird hummed, and crept into the tower, the people still watched, and pointed, and clapped. Some giggled, some ran, through it's eyes... well, not really eyes, it watched the children resume their songs and games, while others continued to work.

When she saw it, she reluctantly went over. She didn't run like she used to, she didn't scream in excitement, she just walked. "Thank you." She said, and it held out it's giant hand, and retracted it's steel claws. It lowered it's head, hoping she would pet him like she used to. She didn't. They were in the library, surrounded by all the things it had brought her, and it felt angry. Not at her, it couldn't be mad at her. it wasn't allowed, but mad at itself. What had it done wrong? Why wouldn't she love him as he loved her? All he wanted was her to accept him, to say good job, I love you, something like that. The time would blend itself together years ago... or atleast it thought it was years, it would fly through the sky, bringing her things, and sing her songs. She would read it books, and every once in a while, the lights in his eyes would have to turn red when a False Shepard would come along, but then the days got longer and the weeks seemed like months, she was unhappy. It didn't want her to be unhappy.


	2. Chapter 2: Pinkerton

Booker walked through the door, drunk. He dropped his empty bottle to the floor, among the many others. He had been visited again, there was a note on his desk. He read it, but really didn't, he _was _drunk. Anna cried, and Booker sighed. He didn't know what to do for her, he was only eighteen. He tried giving her milk, it didn't help. He tried rocking her, it didn't help. "Anna, I'm so sorry, I'm trying my best, I'm under stress, you know I, would die to protect you." He sang, picking putting her back on the bed. Booker slept on the floor that night, so Anna could have all the room to herself.

"Open up! DeWitt, you owe us money! Are you even in there? DeWitt!" The voices echoed through his office, and right into Booker's dreams. He woke in a pool of sweat. He grabbed his pistol and put it back on his desk.. "DeWitt! Get out here or else!" the voice continued. "I need more time, just, just a week!" he shouted, cupping his face in his hands. Booker heard them walk away, and he quickly thought to himself with a massive hangover ringing in the back of his mind. _Find a job, feed the baby, find a job, feed the baby, find a job, feed the baby, get a nanny, find a job, feed the baby, pay for a funeral__, that isn't that hard right?_

Booker kissed Anna goodbye for the day and went out to find a job. He walked through the streets of New York, New York. He went into every shop open at 7 am, and tried to see if anything would work for him. _Selling candy? I can do that._ He thought. He couldn't. _Cooking? I can do that. _He thought. He couldn't. _Kill strikers? I can't do that!_ He thought. He could.

As Booker approached the Pinkerton Detective Agency building, he had a chill run down his spine. He had shot a gun before, but he hadn't killed anybody. As he walked in, a young woman behind a wooden desk said hello. They were in a large, lobby like room, on the first floor of a skyscraper, one of the first. He replied with a hey. After an awkward moment of silence, she asked "Do you need something?" "A Job." he replied. "We have an opening. How old are you?" she asks. "Twenty-two." said Booker, nervously. "No, how old are you _really_?" she says. "Eighteen..." he replies, truthfully this time. "Well mister..." "DeWitt." "Well Mister DeWitt, have you shot a man before?" She asks. Booker is confused for a moment, then he remembers where he is. "Mister DeWitt?" "Oh... sorry, umm, no. I have not killed anybody." He says. "Well, if you get the job I'm sure that will change. We'll send someone over to your place later." She says, signaling with her hand for him to write down his address.

Later that day, a man knocked at the door. Booker was tending to Anna at the time. "DeWitt?" The knocking continued. _I swear to god if I-_ "Mister DeWitt!"  
Booker grabbed his pistol and cocked it. _There's a first time for everything._ He thought. As he opened the door, he realized it wasn't that Lutece man, but a teenager, only a couple years younger than him. "Mister DeWitt, I'm here to tell you, you've been accepted to the Pinkerton Detective Agency." says the kid, backing to the side of the end of Booker's pistol. "Oh, yeah. Thanks." he says. The kid hands him a badge and leaves. Booker closes the door and celebrates, waking Anna. His excitement quickly turned to discomfort. He still wasn't grown up.

The next day, Booker went to the Pinkerton building, with his badge. The young woman was gone, and replaced by another. "What happened to the other lady?" He asked, walking in. "Oh her? She died." says the replacement. "You DeWitt?" She asks. "Yeah." "Take the lift up to level 13, you'll get your first apartment." She says, and then takes out a book.

Booker did as she said, and minutes later was given a gun, ammunition, and a paper. It read: 1703 Wallberry drive. Strike. Sixty strikers. One partner. One hour. Maximum 30 deaths. DeWitt was surprised about how quick he had been taken in, and how straight to the point this place is. He also liked it. Booker went out into the new parking-lot, one of the first again, and got in his Model T. He was going to sell it to the pawn shop nearby when the food and milk ran out. Anna needed the milk, so she could grow big and strong. Booker was still growing big and strong, just like her.


	3. Chapter 3: Lutece

Elizabeth was reading, humming. She was humming a song the it had taught her. She hated it. She used to love it, a friend built for her and only her. Now it was but a warden, a guard. She continued practicing lockpicking, on tiny locks she had made herself to challenge herself. Little did she know, but she was being watched. Constantly. A team of scientists were taking notes, Rosiland Lutece among them. She was the head scientist, and at all times had to know what was going on. This was her third visit this week.

Elizabeth, got bored of reading, and decided to try one more time. She walked into the library and opened a book. A book about Paris. She found a page with a tear and opened it. There it was, the famous tower. The scientists watched in awe. The Lutece however, waited to see what she would do this time. If she will actually go in. She_ never _goes in Lutece remembers. Something was off today though, who knows what could happen. Maybe another False Shepard was coming.

Rosiland considers the thought, and leaves to consult Robert. She meets him at Battleship bay. When she arrives, she sees Robert finishing up a Voxophone recording session. "Rosiland invited me here, to Battleship bay to discuss the possibility of another False Shepard today. There has been a spike across all Columbia's as of late, and thought it would happen here to. I'm not sure why she wanted to meet, we jus-" "Think exactly the same. Yes, it appears so." she finishes. Robert stop the recording and invites her to sit on the bench. "So, plans? Shall I fetch the chalk and board again? Plant the infusions possibly?" He asks. "Hmm, yes. That would seem nice. Let's see if the 77 is fixed again, mind you this is his one-hundredth try. You never know." She says. "Unless you do." They both say, simultaneously.

**7 Hours Later. July 6th 1912. 3:00PM**

"He's coming." She says. "I know." They hear the ticket-bot. "Hey! Come on in, I'm not sure why I didn't recognize you earlier." it says, opening the gate. The Luteces nod. Booker enters, and they flip the coin. "Heads." "Or tails." they say, he catches and flips it back. "Heads." he moves on. "I never find that at satisfying as I imagined." Robert says, "Chin up, there's always next time." Rosiland replies. They walk away, while this Booker moves on.

The Luteces leave to the bar, the repulsor shield in tact. They wait, and begin to talk. "I really do hope we're doing something good for this Booker DeWitt of ours," Robert begins, "I'm fairly sure we are, but at this point, maybe he _doesn't_ get Anna back." Rosiland ends. "Maybe not this time." "No, I mean he _doesn't _get Anna back."

Minutes later, Booker comes into the bar. "Why do you people keep following me?" he exclaims. "We were here first." Rosiland says. "You're following us." Robert continues. Booker enters the room nearby, then comes out and searches through the counter. "Well that seems awfully rude." Robert whispers. "He always does this." Rosiland replies. He then, after a while of shameless looting, he drinks the magnetic repulsor field dose they had. "That's surprising." Robert says, "Surprising he didn't thank us, or that it didn't kill him." Rosiland replies. "Both. Well a magnetic repulsor field around one's body can come in handy." Robert says.

Booker takes it, a bit shaken by their rant, and picks up the Voxophone in the kitchen. "That's one of my favorites." Rosiland says, "Yes well, you did make that one." "Even if I found out that Voxophone recording first, it doesn't mean it's automatically my favorite." The two leave the bar, and place more Voxophone, Infusions, keys and goodies throughout Columbia.


	4. Chapter 4: Mister

Booker was driving down to 1703 Wallberry drive, just as they had told him, when he saw something awfully peculiar; There was something in a back alley, there was a hole in a wall, but it didn't go inside to the building's wall it was located on... He saw... Anna?! Booker turned around suddenly, pissing off many drivers at his sudden U-turn.

He arrives at his office, "Shit!" he says, he forgot the key in the car. Instead, he punches in the window and opens it from the inside. "Anna?! Anna!" He checks the bed, she's gone, he checks the back-room, she's gone, he checks under his desk, gone, he checks under the bed. Thank god. Booker sighs "Don't you ever scare me like that again." He feeds her milk, and get's back in his car. 4:12 PM. "Ugh." He begins driving down to the strike again. Then he remembers: The window! How could he forget the window?! He make's another U-turn, pissing off even more drivers. He get's back into his office and boards the window with one of the doors to the cabinets, "The landlord is going to be pissed." he says, leaving again.

5:32 PM. He speeds down the streets, breaking at least three laws at certain points. When he finally arrives at the strike, everybody's gone. He get's out of his car, which he parked in a lot. There's quite a bit of blood everywhere, in the theater to his right, in-front of the small department store to his left, and all over the police department in front of him. He sits there for a while, enjoying the evening breeze, as much as he can.

He hears footsteps to his right, he keeps his cool. He keeps staring over at the department store, and begins to subtly reach for his pistol... "Don't even try Hon." Booker looks up, at a woman dressed in a black long-coat. Brown hair, red lipstick. "I see you're a bit late, doesn't really matter, you'll still get paid." She says. "Why?" He asks. "Because you were here." She says, winking. She begins to leave, oddly enough. A short lived visit. Booker felt odd, and wrong about the whole thing, still he's happy. He get's to buy more milk, food.

**2 Days Later. 12:00 PM. Pinkerton INT.**

"Here, after-action-report." Booker says, slamming his notes into the table. "Hmmm... impressive." The third woman he at this desk he's seen says. "Can I get paid now?" He asks aggressively. She smiles, and says "Sure." She hands him an envelope. He begins to leave. "See you tomorrow!" She says, waving. "Pfft, if you don't get shot." Booker mutters, under his breath. He quickly realizes how mean that was, and turns around before he leaves and waves.

He gets in his car, now without a radio. He had sold it. But now that he's got his first pay in a while, maybe he won't have to sell much else. He looks in the envelope. 10$. He get's very excited, a bit too excited. He almost get's in a few crashes while driving to his office. "That should be enough to buy what, two weeks worth of food and milk? Perfect!" He says to himself. He makes a stop by the store, and one of the cashiers recognize him. "Haven't seen you in awhile DeWitt, did you get a job?" "Yeah." he says. "Congratulations! These are hard times Mister, but I'm sure I can hook you up with a few deals. Milk is only three cents today." "Great," he replies, getting a basket and walking around the shop, grabbing all he could need for a few weeks. He still has three dollars left at the end of it. He uses it to replenish his whiskey supply...


End file.
